


Christmas Past

by Oparu



Series: When the bell tolls three [1]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-28
Updated: 2017-12-28
Packaged: 2019-02-22 21:22:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13175472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Oparu/pseuds/Oparu
Summary: Part of a series. Killian Jones and Maleficent spend three Christmases together, this one as once as strangers on a cold lonely night, many years before the Dark Curse.





	Christmas Past

**Author's Note:**

  * For [demisexualemmaswan](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=demisexualemmaswan).



> written for the lovely demisexualemmaswan, happy Festive Gifting!

The snow whipped up out of the north, flying down the mountains and screaming through the trees. She expected to catch a deer or two off guard, perhaps a delicious caribou, or an elk that had been separated from the herd. Yet when she swoops down over the pass, she smells leather and salt, not hint of sweat and the familiar musk of the deer, but something of the sea.

She circles back, hovering as low as she dares over the trees. This is not a forest creature, but a man, wrapped in a long black leather coat and would keep out the waves but doesn’t have enough fur for this mountain.

Maleficent wonders, for a moment what will happen to him if she leaves him here. He will certainly freeze to death, if the wolves don’t get him. This far from the village he must be terribly lost, or out to rob her. Does she want to rescue a potential thief? A vagabond? Some kind of highwayman who smells of the sea?

He’ll stink worse in the spring if he dies and rots uneaten.

And she has more than enough food.

And a good fire.

She does not dare think aloud that she’s lonely. Her castle is all too quiet and however odd or uncouth her visitor might be, he will amuse her for an evening, perhaps two.

* * *

She swoops down, letting the wind and the trees hide her form until she can shift into one less terrifying. The wind blows the snow like sand, blasting at his skin so that he barely sees her face. He saw no dragon.

“Come with me,” she yells at him over the storm. She’s no terror in this light, merely a woman in the thick woolen cloak, not even wearing her horns. He stares at her blankly, as if he’d already accepted his frozen fate. “Just come dear, better I eat you than you freeze.”

She holds out her hand, her skin much more impervious to the hissing wind than his, and he thrust his frozen hand into hers. He’s tried to wrap his flesh against the cold, but he’s underdressed for the mountain. Most people who die up here do not realize that the mountain is more deadly than the wolves and the dragon.

His eyes aren’t those of an idiot.

“Come.” She drags him along, parting the snow in front of her feet with magic as if she’d already walked this way. He’s half-frozen, and polite enough not to question rescue, not matter what form it might take. She guides him into the castle walls and finally the wind stops biting. It stings her weak pink skin, cutting in a wave it never could against her scales. She throws her hood back to offer him a smile as she walks him to the heavy wooden doors.

Within the doors, the wind only whispers and moans, and their breathing echoes more against the stone.

“It’s a deserted old castle, I’m afraid, but it keeps out the cold.”

He nods to her, bringing his fingers up to his mouth and blowing to try and warm them. One hand presses against his chapped lips, but the other remains down. While she hangs her cloak up on a wooden peg, she notices the metal hook that serves as his left hand.

Definitely a pirate. Perhaps even a scoundrel. Maybe he’ll try to slit her throat in the middle of the night. It’s been awhile since someone tried that.

“May I take your coat?”

He nods, still catching his breath, keeping his eyes on her while she peels the leather from his stiff shoulders. If she’d left him out much longer, the wolves could have gnawed on his frozen corpse.

“Who are–?”

“Maleficent,” she answers, smiling in welcome. “This forgotten place is my home. You are welcome to stay the night, I will feed and warm you and you may be on your way when you’re ready. I mean you no harm.”

Couching into his sleeve, he shakes the snow from his hair. “I do not know that name.”

A pity. Ah well.

“It is of no consequence. Let us just say that I prefer my own company.”

His lips moved and she took it for a smile. “A hermit then.”

“I prefer recluse.”

She began removing his red brocade vest, and he stopped her hands. “That’s a little forward of you.”

“Is it now?” Maleficent smirked, touching the clasp holding the neckline of her own dress close. “Should I apologize?“

“No, no, I’m merely startled.” His eyes followed her mouth, then her neck. Nearly dead of exposure and he was starting to flirt with her. “You’re unlike the traditional notion of a recluse.”

“And you’re much better dressed than most of the peasants who freeze to death in that woods.”

“Peasants have not felt the touch of fine leathers.”

Leathers currently almost solid with ice.

“Do you feel it now or are your feet entirely numb?” Her hands rested on his waist and their eyes met, nearly level.

“Much below my knees ceased to be anything but painful after the sun went down,” he admits as she guides him to the bench. Undressing both of them with magic would be much easier, but he doesn’t know know of the dragon Maleficent. Perhaps she should pretend to be a simple woman lucky enough to find an undefended castle. or a witch hiding away from the light.

Shaking her head, she presses a mug of spiced cider, thick and sweet, into his hand. “Drink this and sit, your feet will sting as the circulation returns.”

“I’m no stranger to torture.” His voice holds a levity that does not reach his eyes. A Naval man then, before he was a pirate. The king’s and queen’s navies are not known for their kindness.

“I won’t ask you any difficult questions.” Easing his boots from his feet, she pulls off damp socks before bringing her hands to the ice of his feet. Hs toes are white, but that’s healthier than blue or black. White will have the circulation return. Wrapping her fingers around one foot, Maleficent tugs on her magic, bringing more heat and warmth to his skin slowly, trying to call his circulation to finish the job of reviving his limbs.

Of course, it would be faster if– she contemplates that idea. He’s not unattractive, sems intelligence, and he’s been trusting, she likes that in a human. Far easier than arguing with them. She stands, folding her arms over her chest. Sharing her bed is not what she intended this evening but…at the least it will alleviate her boredom.

The way he meets her eyes suggests he’s the competitive sort. That should be fun.

“May I kiss you?”

“Kiss me?”

“It’s the most efficient.”

He studies her as he finishes his cider, his eyes run over her face, then her body, hungry without leering. He’s been a little too close to death to be as enthusiastic as some of her lovers, but the spark is there. Brushing her fingers across his chin, she smirks at the stubble. It’s been decades, centuries even since she kissed one like him.

“Efficient for what?” He nods a little, and she smiles, leaning in close. “Wait.”

Mal tilts her head, curious.

“Killian.”

A name before she kisses him. She nods, toying with it in her mouth. This is not his piratical moniker. This is his name. The swagger and bluster must be as occasionally exhausting as the scurrying and the fear once they find out she is the dragon.

She kisses him, reaching for the fringes of her magic first, not wanting to scorch him or frightening him, but without magic the waking of his limbs will be an agony and he’ll need his toes for the deck of his ship. He tastes of cider, and his lips meld with hers with practiced skill. The heat in her belly rises to meet their lips, seeping into him.

When they part, his hook lies on her hip and his fingers tangle in her hair. “What are you?”

“A friend.”  She initiates another kiss, reaching for the buttons of his vest while she shares her warmth with him one heartbeat at a time.

His hand falls to her breast: bold, and she approves, leaning into his hand. “A fire spirit?”

His fingertips are finally pink again and she’s nearly in his lap. Magic brings them to her bedroom, and another wave calls the fireplace to burn high and hot.

“In a manner.”

Guiding his hand back to her corset, she laughs when he undoes the laces easily with his hook. .

“Will you burn my soul to a crisp?” It’s a jest, of course, yet his eyes have that lonely wildness of a reckless heart. Not much to live for, only ship and crew, she’ll wager.

“Not at the Yuletide, dear. You’re in luck.” Maleficent lifts her dress over her head, then lets the shift fall from her shoulders. Standing over him naked, she runs her palm down his exposed chest. Men have such flat chests, and the dark hair covering his muscles fascinates her as it slips between her fingers.

“I’d say it seems that I am indeed fortunate.”

“Frozen corpses are an unpleasant surprise in spring.” She reaches for his trousers, remembering almost as an afterthought that he is unlike her last lover, and the three before. Who was her last like him? That travelling minstrel? How long ago was that? Two of his lifetimes or three?

“I shall endeavour to only provide pleasant surprises.” His hand runs down her stomach, parting her legs as she stands above him. She pushes him back, his mouth nibbles her breast and yes, that is a most delicious sensation. Well worth the fire magic she’ll spend keeping his toes and feet alive.

The firelight makes his skin gold, and his fingers brushes across her thighs as she mounts his lap. Kissing becomes more urgent, hungier, and as he absorbs more of her magic, licks of fire splash on his lips. He’s touched magic before, she can feel that tingle, but it’s difficult to place, like the Dark One, but less controlled. Something wild and youthful, but desperate, like a dying flame.

His palm finds her clit and thoughts evaporate like snow on hot stones. Moaning her enthusiasm, she gasps when the cold steel touches her back. Leather straps still bind the hook to his arm and she meets his eyes, still grinding her hips into his hand. “May I remove it?”

He nods, licking his lips. His eyes tug her, deep and darkening. She fumbles, distracted and hurried, but it slips free. His hand was severed just below the wrist. Mal squeezes his arm to remind him he is beautiful. His fingers slip up and in, and she groans, fire daning over his skin. The little flash of panic fades when she finds his cock and rubs it with her burning hand. The fire is a shared gift, this evening. Let the sky fall dark over the castle and the wind beg for death, fire is always how they keep the darkness at bay.

Another few kisses and with his teeth on her breast, she aches to be fuller, and meets his eyes to guide him in. He’s gentle when she gasps, and his eyes swim. His skin breaks into sweat, bring in the firelight, and he’s alive again, a lost golden wave spirit, crashing here.

She lowers herself, taking him deeper  and he presses her shoulder, waiting for permission to thrust up, to claim her, however temporarily.

“Oh yes,” she whispers, nibbling his ear. “Please.”

They fumble at first, finding a rhythm like an overexcited flame scrabbling over a log. “Trust me,” he mutters back, biting her lip until she sighs. “Let me.”

Surrender, just for a moment.

She leans back, and he nips, worshiping her breasts, and by the stars, he’s good with his tongue. His fingers find her clit while their hips meet, thrust together, find each other. Like waves lost at sea, there’s no shore to find them, no whispered promises of love undying, of unbridled affection.

This is heat, quick, sorching, stretching ecstasy that breathes life into icy skin, hers and his. She forgets how the quiet wears on her, how it settles over her like dust on her scales and she lets it in. Lets it eat of her heart until speech seems a waste of time. No one knows her.

Tonight he doesn’t need to, because her body hungers for what her mind might have held back. They build, not racing, but teasing, taunting each other, holding each other back on the edge, biting, nipping, digging their hands into warm flesh. His eyes open, swallowing her in the darkness while her own must flash green. Desire mutes his surprise, and he thrusts up, filling her until his breath wavers and he falls, consumed but not burnt. Reborn in flame.

His climax leaves her wet, molten like iron, and he flips her, lying down down on the thick furs while he kisses down to her thighs. She could have slept well with the tingling in her teeth, but there’s a pride in the way he takes her clit into his mouth. He would have her panting and screaming, and she’s only too happy to oblige. This is one of her favorite kinds of heat and his tongue is a marvel.

Her trembling sounds of pleasure, and grasping claws in the sheets make him smug when the stars break. He’s earned it. They stare up into the smoke and stones together, spent in the furs. She has no rum in the castle, and he promises to bring a barrel.

“In summer.”

“Very wise.”

Warm honeyed wine is almost as good, and he tells her of the secrets of the angry sea. She doesn’t mention that she knows the witch Ursula, or that she’s fairly certain the evil queen of his tales is her dear Regina. He spins a story well, and sings to her while he makes breakfast.

She sends him on his way with thick furs to keep him warm, and furlined boots, because she’s decided she’s rather fond of his feet. He did intend to steal something from her treasures and he laughs when she admits she’s no longer sure if that’s even in her vault, but he’s welcome to look.


End file.
